


Restoration

by Sally_Port



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:45:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Port/pseuds/Sally_Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after the defeat of the Patriots and the re-establishment of the United States, the Matheson and Monroe family has to deal with the world shifting again -- this time when the power comes back.  But the sharp divide between those who want everything to be how it was before the blackout and those who want to keep everything the same creates a political schism that threatens another American civil war, combined with the expectation of power being an illusion when almost nothing really works any more.</p>
<p>And there is always the question of why now. . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Good Resistance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072942) by [Sally_Port](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Port/pseuds/Sally_Port). 



> To those of you who haven't read A Good Resistance, I encourage you to begin there. While I will do my best to make this story make sense, even to the new reader, there are events and characters introduced in A Good Resistance that will mean more if you start there.

PROLOG: 2041 -- Thirteenth Anniversary of the Bombing of Atlanta and Philadelphia

“Where are they,” Rachel fumed, pacing the same track in the floor she’d been wearing for nearly two hours and Charlie forced herself to breathe slowly. Rachel had complained Miles and Bass had been getting on her nerves all morning and had sent them out riding, telling them to be gone at least two hours. But it had been nearly six and no one had been able to find them.

“Well wherever they are, at least they’re together.” Charlie said and was rewarded with one of Rachel’s trademark stares.

“Not very comforting, Charlie.” She’d marveled at how far Rachel had come from that bitter, hard woman she’d once been but on this particular day, everyone understood she was going to regress. Charlie and Bass had starting coming to D.C. on the anniversaries of the Blackout and the day Atlanta and Philadephia were bombed because about the only people Rachel didn’t seem to hate in the days leading up to those hallmarks were her grandchildren.

The main door opened and Rachel and Charlie both surged forward but it was Connor, his face worried. “I just got back from the police station. Still no news. Jeremy has people checking the hospitals.”

Rachel’s face started to tremble. Charlie watched her slam her mask back in place but she took her mother’s hand anyway. Finally Rachel just nodded. “It’s just that. . .you know what today is, don’t you.”

“It’s why we’re here,” Charlie soothed. Three year old Marcus came running out of the bedroom where he’s been supposed to be napping but he crowed, “Connor” and launched himself at his older brother, who scooped him up and held him tight.

“Hey, squirt. Wow, you’re getting heavy.”

“I’m supposed be growing.”

The door opened behind them and Charlie felt her knees go weak with relief at the sight of Miles and Bass outlined against the streetlamps and she heard Rachel’s exclamation before her mother was in Miles’ arms.

“Hey,” Miles said, patting her shoulder. “Sorry about that. We. . .didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

Charlie was a little slower moving around her son and step-son to hug Bass so she didn’t miss Miles’ wince when Rachel moved a hand to his back. And her own husband, she realized, was stiffer than normal. “Were you in a fight?” she asked and Rachel pushed away from Miles.

“What?” Miles asked, his tone innocent, which was enough to convince Charlie something was wrong. 

Connor’s face was hard, even if his arms around his youngest brother were still gentle. “Give me their descriptions. I’ll make sure the police are notified and. . . .”

“We’re going to have to tell them,” Miles said and Bass nodded.

“I told you they’d know right away.”

“Know what?” Rachel’s voice was flat and Bass turned his back to her, wincing again as he pulled up his shirt. His left shoulder blade had the heavy black M surrounded by a half-circle that was the traditional symbol of the Monroe Republic and it matched the pale scars Charlie had burned into her right wrist. The script on his right shoulder was much finer; the word MONROE running across with the word MATHESON going down, sharing the same M. 

Charlie and Rachel both turned to Miles, who shrugged and lifted his own shirt. The tattoos were identically placed, but Miles had MATHESON across with MONROE going down.

“I was worried something happened to you,” Rachel snapped.

“It was a spur of the moment idea,” Miles admitted. “It took a lot longer than I thought. Sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” Bass said. “We stopped for lunch and there was a tattoo shop across the street. I was doodling and said we should get this done. I never thought Miles would say yes. But when he did I thought we should do it before he changed his mind.”

Connor looked intrigued and handed Marcus over to Charlie. “I’m going to go call off the search dogs. Mind if I come back over for dinner?”

“Of course not,” Miles said. “You should bring Bridget with you?”

Connor shook his head, blushing. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“You have a girlfriend?” Charlie asked and Connor glared at Miles.

“I wouldn’t call her that, exactly. I wasn’t even going to bring it up but I think someone is trying to distract everyone from his back.”

Miles shrugged, smiling a little and Rachel shook her head. “Probably. But there’s nothing wrong with Bridget. Even if there is an age difference.” She glanced at Bass and Charlie. “They have no room to talk. You should bring her.”

Bass grinned. “Age difference, huh? Something else you can blame on getting from me. Though Charlie just turned 35. How old is Bridget? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

“She’s 48.”

Charlie and Bass both stared and Connor blushed again. Finally Bass sighed. “Well, I’m 56 and I just got two new tattoos so clearly, age doesn’t mean wisdom. You know that you have to bring her now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be a second epilogue to A Good Resistance but it never really felt right. . .in fact, something about if felt like the start of an entirely new work and I realized that while one story had a definitive ending, I wasn't ready to quite leave it yet but I had no central plot.
> 
> And then I started to wonder what would happen if the power came back on and what sort of a mess that could create if people expected to return to a certain lifestyle but things no longer worked.
> 
> One side of the new tattoos. I couldn't resist finally putting the M on Miles.
> 
> MATHESON  
> O  
> N  
> R  
> O  
> E  
> 
> 
> MONROE  
>  A  
>  T  
>  H  
>  E  
>  S  
>  O  
>  N  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

March 2043

Charlie straightened from weeding the row of young bean plants, one hand going to her back, the other to shield her eyes from the spring afternoon sunshine. Something buzzed at her ears and she rolled her neck, feeling the bones crunch against each other after a lifetime of hard use.  
Not far from her Justin looked up from his own crouch. “What is that?” her son asked, looking at the sky. “Bees?”

It was the thought of flight that triggered the memory and Charlie felt the blood drain from her face as she stepped through the vegetable beds to grab her son by his shoulders.

“I need you to take your sisters and brother and go, now.”

The thirteen year old hesitated, glancing over to where Sylvia and Anastasia were working on the tomato plants and slightly father away where Marcus was picking grass out of the tomato cages. Charlie shook him gently.

“Justin, you have to do this. Like we practiced. Remember?”

Justin nodded, even though she could see the tears shiny in his eyes.

They had done escape and evade drills with the children since they’d been too young to understand that mommy and daddy’s game had potential deadly consequences. Even now she wasn’t sure five year old Marcus really understood but as Justin caught his nine and eleven year old sisters’ hands, she could see the fear in the girls’ faces.

They had discussed it many times – she and Bass – and they had agreed that if anything had happened, Charlie was supposed to try to go with the children; that Bass would join them later if he could but that they should at least have one parent.

But the droning thrum cutting through the air wasn’t something they had ever planned for and she only hoped that whoever was coming would know enough what she looked like that she could distract them long enough for Justin to get his siblings away.

“Go,” she yelled at them one last time, making sure they were headed for the bunker built into the bottom of the trap door in the barn. It had taken them nearly four years to finish digging the tunnel that connected it to an old sewer system which would take them into the town of White Oak. It had once been most a bedroom community for Washington D.C. but it had been mostly abandoned and the land around it had quickly been converted to farmland.

They were too well trained to disobey but she forced down her own screams as she watched her children scurrying into the barn.

Only when the barn door shut behind them did she turn, running as fast as she could for the house, pounding into the foyer with dirt from the garden still stuck to her shoes. It scattered on the oak floors Bass had laid not long after they’d moved in.

She had loved the old farmhouse with the willows around it from the moment she had seen it but the tiny rooms had been a problem. After so many years in the Marines, her husband had craved light and openness so they had gutted the place, ripping out the ancient and pointless wiring, reshaping the whole house in a way that managed to appease the man who once used Independence Hall for his office to sate his need for space. They had also gotten rid of the appliances that still cluttered many of the homes Charlie went into. Pointless coffee makers and useless microwaves; televisions still hung on the walls like altars to a dead god.

She made it to the closet and wrenched it open just before she heard the front door slam and she called, “Bass?”

“Right here,” he answered and Charlie shoved the pocket door they’d set as a false wall aside and started grabbing rifles. He was breathing hard as he filled the doorway and she wasn’t surprised since he’d been down by the cattle pasture, working on a fence when she’d last seen him. He’d ran hard. “Thought the plan was you go with the kids.”

She didn’t answer him at first, instead piling rifles onto his outstretched arms. They had twelve in there but she only took half that, grabbing three of the packs that had ten loaded magazines. She took a moment to load her own weapon, slinging it over her back as she lifted the packs into her arms. “Yeah, but none of our plans had helicopters.”

He didn’t disagree and they headed back out the front door, keeping as low as they could. She could see the black dots on the horizon as they rendezvoused with their four ranch hands. Three of them had been former Mornroe Miltia – their tanned arms showing a brand that matched Charlie’s. The last man had been a rebel but it all seemed so long ago and the four men decided that if Miles’ Matheson’s niece could forgive Sebastian Monroe enough to marry him, they would consider it a treaty and work together.

“Jack, you and Kevin go west. Derrick, you and Carter take south sector. Charlie and I are going northeast,” Bass barked. “But I want to see what they’re here for before we shoot anything down in flight.”

The old Monroe would have shot first and asked questions later and she followed him, keeping close to the hedge that served as a reinforcement to one of their fences until they could make their way up a berm that almost looked like it was natural. Charlie checked her rifle, racking a round into the chamber and settled in, sight trained on the shapes cutting through the air.

She shivered as she remembered her last time in a helicopter and Bass reached out to grip her hand. “The kids make it out?”

“They were headed that way. I figured I could help buy them a few extra minutes.”

He nodded absently, eyes still fixed to the metal birds. “You get the chance, follow them.” It wasn’t a request and she didn’t waste time arguing with him. Justin would be able to get his siblings away from the farm but it would be a long trip to D.C., to Miles and Rachel.

She stifled down the terror that if whoever was in the helicopters knew to come for them, that they might also have already gotten to Miles and Rachel. 

The birds circles the town and one of them dropped to land in what she was guessing was probably the town square and she felt her stomach clench in fear since the town was between the children and D.C. She tried to reassure herself that they would know to avoid it when they saw the helicopter and then she focused on the helicopter roaring over them. The rotor wash tore at her hair and her shirt and she found herself fighting memories of the last time she’d been near one – heading to Colorado to stop Bass and try to save her mother.

She snuck a quick look at Bass and saw the expression on her face that she could only imagine probably mirrored her own; bitterness, regret, sorrow and the unending helpless frustration at how they’d let the Patriots play them all.

The helicopter landed in the pasture – Charlie wondered what the cattle thought about it – and the engine pitch changed as the blades slowed, their orbits dipping closer to the ground.

She felt her breath catch when the first man jumped out and even at the distance she recognized her step-son. She heard Bass’ gasp and saw his knuckles go white around his own rifle stock but she didn’t lower her own until she saw the other Soldiers who followed him out were people she recognized, even if she didn’t know their names.

Connor ran, bent low at the waist until he was clear of the blades then stopped to scan the farm – one hand over his eyes and watched two men detach from his side to jog towards the house.

“Stay here and cover me,” Bass said, his voice still tense and Charlie stayed down, her heart feeling like it would break that Bass would question his own son but even she had to concede they had been through so much that it was wisest to be cautious and they had no way to be certain that Connor was there by choice, even if he didn’t seem to be under duress.

Connor waved at his father as Bass came over the berm and she watched him jog over to his father. She had never thought Bass and Connor looked particularly alike and she’d supposed it had been Emma her husband’s oldest had taken after but it wasn’t until after Marcus starting growing that she’d asked Miles about it since Marcus looked so much like Connor it was a little unnerving. She wished she’d had baby pictures of Connor to compare them. They looked like Bass’ father, Miles had told her, whereas Bass and Anastasia both looked more like Gail Monroe. Justin looked more like the Porters but it was Sylvia that had surprised them all. Her hair had been a little darker than her parents and her features had been ambiguous until about a year before when the angular planes of her face had started reminding Charlie more and more of Miles.

She waited in the deafening silence of the rotors, theories cascading through her mind of what might have happened to restore power. It was obvious that Connor and Bass’ conversation had devolved into something close to an argument. Connor just looked serious but Bass was the one becoming more and more upset. She shifted her weight again, fighting the impulse to just go down there but she thought of their children and how she couldn’t take the chance until she knew absolutely sure they were safe.

It felt like an eternity but she guessed it was probably less than three minutes until Bass raised one arm and circled it, then pointed at the ground in front of him. It was an old military hand signal that meant “rally point” and she stood, jogging down the berm. She could see the other four men coming out of their own hiding spots. She kept her rifle at the low ready as she approached them.

“Hey guys,” Bass called. “Charlie sent the kids out. Go head them off and bring them back. . .before they make it all the way to D.C.” It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since she’d been weeding in the garden she realized.

Connor raised on eyebrow at the rifle still in her hands but he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his left side. “Hey, Charlie. Sorry to freak you out like that.”

“You’re lucky you were able to land at all,” Bass snapped, sounding like he was continuing an argument. “We could have shot you down without even knowing it was you?”

“Well,” Connor said, his voice a little teasing, “I was counting on your getting old and soft. And see, I was right. Besides, how could I give up the chance to make an entrance like that?”

“What, crashing in a rain of flaming wreckage if any one of us had an itchy trigger finger? Connor, Charlie’s brother was killed by a helicopter gunner. Did you ever think what this might have felt like to her?”

She felt a little guilty that – of all the horrible memories that had poured through her mind in those brief minutes – Danny’s death hadn’t been one of them. She’d found the years hadn’t dulled the memories – she hadn’t forgotten; never would forget – but even though it still hurt, she’d gotten used to it.

“Shit,” Her stepson craned his neck to look at her face. “Sorry. I never thought about that.”

“You’re fine,” she assured him, reaching out her left hand to touch Bass’s hand. “I’m okay.” Some days she wondered if Ben and Danny’s deaths haunted him more than they did her. “But seriously, what’s going on here?”

She was guessing Bass was so shaken by the fact he’d probably nearly killed his own son that he had probably forgotten to ask about the helicopters at all.

“Oh, yeah,” Connor said, gesturing back at the bird. “Um, well, this morning the power came back on and Jeremy sent me out to get you guys.”

“The power came on this morning and we have helicopters working?” Charlie asked.

Even Bass looked completely unconvinced and Connor shrugged. “Dad, remember when you started doing maintenance on helicopters. Before you had power? Apparently Tom thought it was a good idea and he had about a dozen of them that he was doing everything he could for them. Jeremy kept it up and so when things started working this morning, we had helicopters.”

“How. . .never mind.” Bass ran his hand through his hair. “Why does Jeremy want us?”

Connor handed over a sealed envelope and Bass tore through the seal, his lips twisting up slightly before he passed it over to Charlie.

It was a single line of clearly hasty print and even Charlie smiled a little at the words “Get your asses here NOW. – J. Below it, the heavy, spiky scrawl that looked the same, no matter if it was rushed or he had all the time in the world, her uncle had added, “I second. –Miles”

The second helicopter rose above the tree line and started for them. “I sent them to talk to the sheriff,” Connor called. “Figured it was kind of bad to come swooping in here and then out again without them knowing what was going on. Besides, I figured it’s probably best we bring the kids with us anyway so I wanted the extra seats. Speaking of kids,” he pointed past Charlie’s shoulder and she turned to see Sylvia running towards her, her daughter’s face streaked with tears. Carter was holding Marcus in one arm, his other draped around Anastasia’s shoulder while Justin hung back.

Bass bent over to scoop up Sylvia even though she was almost as tall as Charlie and the girl’s shoulders shook with sobs. Connor looked stricken but he moved in to pat his half-sister’s back. “Hey, kid, sorry to scare you.”

The other four children crowded around and Carter nodded towards Sylvia then Justin. “We tracked them to ditch and those two nearly took my head off with tree branches before they knew it was me.” He ruffled Justin’s hair as her son gripped Charlie so tight her ribs hurt.

Sylvia pulled her head out of Bass’ shoulder to offer a watery smile and she wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry about hitting you,” she whispered and Carter smiled.

“You were just doing your job. I’ll take a few hits like that, knowing you’re keeping your brother and your sister safe.” Marcus was grinning, completely focused on Connor and the helicopters but Charlie saw the terror still in Anastasia’s eyes and she dropped to one knee to gently hug her younger daughter.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Justin and Sylvia told me to hide,” Anastasia whispered back. “That I needed to make Marcus lie down and be quiet to take care of him if they didn’t come back. But I didn’t know what to do if they didn’t come back?” The quiet whispers turned into noisy sobs, as if the little girl could finally let go of the iron control she’d been imposing on herself and Charlie picked her up, passing her, one of her arms still around Justin.

“It’s okay,” she said, looking over her children to meet Bass’ eyes. “You guys did great. All of you.”

“I’m very proud of you,” Bass said, reaching around Sylvia to touch Justin’s shoulder. “All of you.”

His eyes showed how much the words cost him and Charlie felt herself wince, even as she forced a smile onto her lips. She’d been twenty when she’d learned how not-ordinary her family really was and it had taken her months to learn all the facets of it; a stripping away of her innocence as piece after piece had been revealed. Miles as a former Militia commander, her parents involvement in the blackout. She and Bass had been very open, talking about the blackout and Republic so that – even if the kids hadn’t known what any of it meant. They’d both hoped that the knowledge would be a gradual understanding of what the stories really meant. She had a bad feeling they were out of time for the gradual introduction and that the vague concepts were going to become hard facts her children were going to see all too clearly.

 

They rushed through packing a few bags, tacitly agreeing not to ask any more questions, Bass giving directions to the farmhands as Charlie supervised the baggage detail securing their meager luggage into the helicopter. It wasn’t much, she realized, when one was travelling with four children, but it would have to be enough until she could figure out how long they were going to be in D.C.

Marcus was surprisingly reluctant to actually get onto the helicopter, considering he’d been the only one who hadn’t seemed affected by their time trying to hide. Connor solved that by moving to the back seat, putting Marcus between him and Charlie. Even adjusted all the way down, the restraints were sloppy on the boy but Charlie decided it would have to be enough for the short ride. Connor put Anastasia in the seat across from him and Charlie leaned out her door enough to see Bass checking Sylvia and Justin’s seats.

The wind whipped at her hair as they rose and she watched the grass lay down in a wave, bowing away from the rotor wash. Part of her felt caught between the same helpless frustration as the last time she’d been in a helicopter and the other part of her felt the same restless hunger for action and even she didn’t know which was dominant. The only thing she did know was that in less than a half an hour, all their lives had completely changed.

 

The helicopters set back down again on the White House lawn – not far from where President Davis had once tried to have a trial for Julia Neville. The place was in much better repair and the missing fence had been fully restored and Charlie ducked low as she stepped out, turning to help unbuckle Anastasia. “Stay right here,” she yelled above the noise from the engine. Connor had Marcus out and bent low as he carried his young half brother clear of the blades. Charlie let Anastasia walk on her own but she linked their hands together as they walked towards a group near the porch. The two birds rose again, heading east and Charlie watched them for a moment before she turned to where Bass had made his way over to Miles.

“Aaron,” Bass said, “Congrats, Man. You did it.”

Charlie hung back, watching the way Aaron was standing, the protective hunch when he was worried that he’d done something wrong. 

“No,” the bearded man said. “That’s the problem. I didn’t DO anything. And I don’t know why it happened. Other than, whatever it was, it wasn’t me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the likelihood of helicopters still working after thirty years is slight. . .but if someone had been actively doing maintenance on them in some sort of low-visibility program in case the power was ever restored. . .okay, still not too likely. But it was this scene that inspired the entire story in the first place. Besides, this is Revolution (I still miss it and wish we'd gotten Season Three).
> 
> I avoided a lot of the nano plot in A Good Resistance, touching on it very lightly with Aaron's ability to light things on fire but they never got an explanation, or a trip to Spring City or an answer to an entire forest filled with dead rats. So what if the nano, instead of charging ahead with it's plot to dominate humanity, learned from the death of the rats; re-evaluated their opinion of Miles and chose to temper their interference with humanity. It is my supposition that it would have slowed down the error in the code and its only now that things are starting to spiral out of their control.
> 
> So how does an ever-evolving but weakening nano intersect with a human population not that their very best? Right now, even I am not totally sure of the answer to that question.


	3. Chapter 3

Jeremy’s office had probably eight people in it. Jeremy himself was talking into a black radio about the size of a brick. His voice was louder than usual as he was saying, “No, I said the west side. WEST. Do you copy?” There was nothing more than a hiss of static and he dropped it on the floor.

“I told you these things would be useless,” he snapped at a man Charlie recognized as one of the officers in charge of White House security – Major Holtsman.

Holtsman rushed around the desk to grab the radio from the carpet and it gave a particularly nasty hiss that seemed to cheer the Major. “No, Sir, it’s working. You just have to press this here.” Holtsman held the radio up to his own ear. “Parker, did you copy west? Parker?” Holtsman yelped -- more of a scream -- and dropped the radio, his hand going to his ear. “It shocked me!” he gasped and Charlie saw Jeremy grin for a moment.

“Like I said, useless. Dempsey, Morgan, go make sure Parker understands the orders and I don’t want anyone relying on radio communication if they don’t get a response. We’ve fought plenty of wars since the blackout without radios. We don’t need them now.”

“But what if the enemy have them,” Holtsman protested, still rubbing his ear. “It will slow us down and –”

“We don’t have enemy yet. All we have are panicked and confused masses who are rioting because they’re freaking out. So until then, we don’t change what works. At least not until those things really work. Dempsey, Morgan, I gave you orders, get moving.”

The two men saluted and darted out while Holtsman finally bent down to pick up the radio again, muttering, “I don’t understand why it stopped working. These things always used to work.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and he gestured them closer to his desk. “Thank goodness you’re here,” he sighed. “General Matheson, General Monroe, Colonel Matheson.”

“Oh, not that shit again,” Bass groaned but Charlie noticed Miles didn’t look surprised.

“Yeah, that shit. Power came back on this morning and the entire city has gone crazy. Riots, looting. We’ve had at least three fatalities from people beating someone to death for their TVs. But it’s nothing but static on. Even the killings over refrigerators are pointless because the power grid – whatever is left of it – keeps having surges. . .I guess brown-outs are the best description.” He pointed at the wall behind them and Charlie turned to see a wall panel slid back to reveal a TV in the nook. “Someone plugged that and the DVD player into the wall – no power strip – and turned on a movie. About ten minutes into it we had a power surge and it fried both of them.”

Holtsman tapped the lower portion of the radio on the corner of the desk and lifted it to his ear again. “Parker. Come in, Parker.”

“Where’s Parker,” Miles asked and Holtsman sighed.

“He was going out to the west side of the grounds. The fence is weakest in that area. This was working a few minutes ago.”

“West side has the stables between here and the fence,” Miles said. “This is an MBITR radio, which means that antenna is good for line-of-sight. So unless you have an OE254 set up as a retrains station on top of the stable, it won’t do any good.”

“Not to mention,” Bass added, “the batteries on that thing are probably toast. It was a miracle they had anything left in them at all.”

“Yeah well,” Jeremy sighed, “things do seem to work for a few minutes; like they do still have some battery left but then it wears out. We’ve already had a lot of speculation about nanites and what stored charge might be remaining that. . .oh, hell, what did Rachel call it again.”

“Ghost something,” Miles admitted. “But I have no idea what any of it means.”

“Whatever it is, it was just enough for most everyone to realize we have power,” Jeremy growled. “Holtsman, stop playing with that thing and get back to whatever it was you were doing before radios seemed like such a good idea.” The Major departed swiftly but he still clutched the radio. “The rest of you, same thing.”

The room cleared swiftly and Bass shifted his feet. “I don’t like this.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” Jeremy agreed. “But the two of you still scare the shit out of people. So go throw on a uniform – U.S. Miltia, not Monroe – and go ride around together to convince people we can and will do whatever it takes to restore order.” There was a vicious anger underlying what Charlie realized was Jeremy trying very hard to control himself. Bass started to say something and Jeremy slammed his fist on the desk. “This is not a request, General Monroe.”

Even Miles looked surprised but they both nodded and headed out the door. Charlie turned to follow them but Jeremy’s voice went soft.

“Colonel Matheson. A moment, please.” She saw Bass start to hesitate but she shook her head and he and Miles followed one of Jeremy’s aides who gestured them into a small room where she saw uniforms thrown across the couch. “Can you shut the door?”

She closed the door in the face of two more hovering aides and when she faced the desk she’d have sworn Jeremy had aged five years in the time it took her to turn around.”

“Miles knows but I’m not telling Bass till they get back – I need him to be firm but not vicious. But. . . .” he trailed off and she heard the anger and weariness in his voice. “I should send you with them but I’m going to ask you to do me a favor and go upstairs and meet with the Greene family. Jacob Greene was killed in one of the riots this morning. It was probably an accident; I doubt the mob knew who he was but that doesn’t mean anything to his family. He was coming back from his morning run when a mob attempted to storm the fence. He got caught against it and pretty much trampled to death before anyone knew what happened.”

Charlie felt tears prick at her own eyes. Jacob Greene, who had stood outside the White House dining room window with his father to help offer them the American Militia to retake the country from the Patriots. His daughters, Louisa and Isabelle, had been raised alongside their cousins Tim and Maya Neville, and were good friends with her own children.

“Oh shit,” she muttered and he nodded.

“That's why no one moves alone for now. But you know what it’s like to lose a Dad and I think the kids could use that right now. I owe that whole family something since we all know how much harder our job would have been without them. Can you let them know I’ll be up later but I need to get this under control and . . . .” he trailed off and Charlie snorted.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Jeremy.”

He glared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, so I’m a coward. But this might not be the right time.”

“You’re not seducing her. You’re offering condolences because her husband was just killed. You can come back to your desk and let people try to get you talk on useless radios in five minutes.”

He smiled wryly at her, then stood. “Fair enough. See, this is why I keep you around. Thank you, Colonel.”

They made their way out of the oval office – Jeremy waving his hands at increasing frantic aides all shaking papers at him to sign. “Give those to Vice-President Bennett,” Charlie snapped at a few of them and they all darted off like a school of fishes towards Connor’s office and he smiled at her.

“Thank you. I shouldn’t have let him go get you guys but he was so frantic to make sure you were okay I finally relented. Miles was keeping a lot of them at bay but the instant you guys got here they took advantage of his distraction.”

“Where’s Mom?” Charlie asked as they climbed the staircase and headed towards the wing where the White House residents lived.

“She’s closeted in some room doing. . .I have no idea what. She and Aaron have been in there pretty much since the power came back on and we were able to get her and Miles here.”

“He came out to see us when we landed,” Charlie said and Jeremy shrugged.

“He must have gotten a break.” He paused outside the large room that usually served as playroom and took a deep breath before throwing the doors open.

The room was one of Charlie’s favorites in the White House. The high windows let in wonderful light and couches were scattered around a bookcase that took up most of one of the walls. The other wall had shelves of toys and desks.

Cynthia and Aaron’s eight your old son, Davy, was sitting on one of the couches with a book and he came running over as soon as they came in and hugged Charlie around the waist. “Aunt Charlie,” he whispered, his whole face bathed in misery.

“Hey,” she whispered back, gripping him tight. She hadn’t thought of the fact that Davy had grown up with the Neville’s and the Greene’s and Jacob’s death would hit him nearly as hard as Jacob’s biological family.

Carissa was sitting between Adrianna and Cynthia – her daughters on the floor with their heads leaning against her legs. Jacob’s father John was on Adrianna’s other side with one arm around each of Adrianna’s children. Jason was standing behind them and Charlie could see the suppressed anger in his face. He smiled at Charlie and Adrianna wiped away tears but the best she was able to manage was a grimace. Carissa’s eyes, however, were dry and her face was set. She couldn’t exactly sympathize with losing a husband, Charlie realized, but she was all-too-familiar with losing a brother.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Jeremy began but Carissa shook her way out of Cynthia and Adrianna’s arms and stood to walk over in front of Jeremy. “Carissa, I. . . .I can’t even tell you, how sorry I am.”

The former Patriots Captain who had been right alongside Charlie when President Davis had promoted the group of them to Colonel in the new American Militia looked like she had the day she’d first learned “James King” was really Sebastian Monroe; a little scared and a lot more angry.

“What’s going on out there,” she demanded and Jeremy snorted.

“As much as we can. . .I’ve got as many patrols out on the street as possible and I’m sending out Miles and Bass to try to scare people into calming down. I hope it will be enough.”

Carissa gave a brittle nod, “Me too. Thank you, Jeremy. For doing something and for coming.” She finally turned towards Charlie and offered a half-hearted smile. “You too. Are the kids with you?”

“They’re downstairs still,” Charlie said, taking the hand Carissa offered her. “One of the maids was going to get them into rooms. I can have them stay down there if you want”

Jeremy walked over to the couch and crouched down in front of John. Charlie couldn’t hear what he was saying but John managed a weak smile.

“No, go ahead and send them up. The kids can use all the friends they can get right now.” Charlie wasn’t surprised, in retrospect, that Carissa was the type to be angry in her grief. Charlie was that way herself and she watched the Patriot Captain make a conscious effort to breath calmly.

“I should get back,” Jeremy said, straightening and adjusting his dark blazer. “I’ll send word if we get any updates and of course you’re all welcome to stop by my office any time.”

Charlie wasn’t sure Carissa’s jaw wasn’t going to shatter with how tight she was clenching it but she nodded. “Thank you.”

The two stared at each other for a moment and Charlie nearly sighed in relief when Jeremy grimaced at her family before muttering, “oh, screw it. Come here, Kid.” He pulled Carissa into a hug and her shoulders were rigid for a moment before Charlie heard the sounds of her sobs muffled against his chest.”

Adrianna had her arms around both of Jacob and Carissa’s daughters but Charlie was pretty sure she wasn’t imaging the look of relief on both Adrianna and John’s faces.

 

Carissa shoved Jeremy out to go back to his office after she recovered from the first violent sobs – the first time she’d cried since they’d gotten the news, Adrianna had whispered to Charlie – but she continued to cry on-and-off for the next hour before she lay limply against the cushions on the couch. Justin was reading a book in the far corner of the room to Marcus and Davy while Jason's children -- Tim and Maya Neville -- listened. Louisa and Isabelle Greene sat with Sylvia and Anastasia near the window, their voices light and steady mostly but broken by the occasional sob.

Jason and Cynthia had both been called away by requests from Jeremy office but Rachel had come up finally to ask John for help in whatever he could tell her about the D.C. power grid. Charlie was guessing it wasn’t much, but she knew Rachel understood “doing something” could help dull grief.

“Aunt Charlie,” Davy spoke, glancing around like he was a little nervous. “I’m hungry.” He looked guilty to admit it but Charlie glanced out the window towards the sun and realized it had to be well past noon.

“No wonder. We missed lunch. But we can probably get some sandwiches or something. Would that be okay?”

He nodded vigorously before turning back to where Justin was reading and Charlie stood. “I’ll go talk to one of the maids.”

“I got it,” Carissa said. Action to help grief, Charlie reminded herself and she sat back down next to Adrianna as Carissa walked out the door.

“Oh, fuck, Charlie,” Adrianna whispered, glancing around to make sure the children weren’t listening. “Thank you so much for coming. I was so worried about her.”

“I think that was Jeremy, more than me,” Charlie murmured back and Adrianna snorted.

“Maybe. But I think we both know who got him up here.” Her tone held a mixture of affection and exasperation. “The two of them have always been such good friends. But when they brought the news he walked out and we didn’t see him again until you dragged him in. It’s not like we blame him for Jacob’s death. No one,” the tears shone in her eyes for a moment before they spilled down her cheeks, “had any idea of what would happen.”

“I think he feels guilty that Jacob is dead and he’s alive,” Charlie said softly. “I’m familiar with that myself. That or he though him being here was a little. . .unsuitable.” In a normal setting, having the wife’s ex-lover greet her and her dead husband’s family might not be the best thing but their family hadn’t survived being normal.

“Dumbass,” Adrianna snorted quietly. “We all knew about their past before Jacob died so why would it make a bit of difference now.”

“Grief does strange things to some people,” Charlie sighed, realizing she had another name to add to the list of her dead. Ben, Maggie, Danny and Nora were getting entirely too many comrades, she decided.

Carissa walked back in and dropped back into her place on the corner of the couch. She practically wilted against the upholstery and Charlie took her hand. “If you need to go get some sleep, I can stay here with the kids.”

“Thanks,” Carissa said, her voice quiet but firm. “But Davy’s right. We all need to eat. Cynthia’s coming back up again to be here in case they need her and then we -- Colonel Greene, Colonel Bailey and Colonel Matheson -- are going to see exactly what we can do to assist in restoring order.”

Adrianna looked a little started but after a moment she sighed and a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I’d like that,” Jacob’s sister said softly. “Very much.”

Charlie nodded. “Well, I’m sure General Monroe and General Matheson have made a pretty good start on calming things down. . .but then again, those two can probably use some reinforcements.” Either because they’d been out long enough to get themselves into trouble or because Bass was starting to twitch at being called General Monroe.

“Then we’re agreed,” Carissa’s smile was sharp, even if her eyes were still puffy. “It’s time to find out exactly what the hell is going on out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I realize that most readers won't be very attached to Jacob Greene -- I wish I'd given him more page-time in AGR; maybe I'll get to do a little more with him in Mexico/Texas -- he was meant to be a truly decent human being with a pretty good sense of humor (he had to have one to be married to Carissa for a decade or so) and someone who did a lot to help the country when they were dealing with the restoration of the constitution and country-unity. But I wanted to kill off someone who would mean something emotionally to the characters to touch on how serious the situation is. This is just the start of the hell the country is about to go through when a segment of the population wants to immediately go back to what it was like before the blackout, no matter how unrealistic it is to expect it to happen overnight after a 30 year break.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a minute and comment. Like most authors I want to know what people think of the story. Thank you. I'm also available at sallyportao3@gmail.com if anyone has anything they don't want to post on an open forum.


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